Gail Whitman peered through the one-way glass at the small, barren room. A man sat alone amid the whitewashed concrete walls, neon striplight buzzing above his head. If the furniture wasn’t bolted down he would have tipped himself over onto the floor by now, but instead he sat chewing on one pink dreadlock, rocking back and forth to the rhythm in his head…
I have a new story out in Triptych Tales. ‘Habits‘ is a near future science fiction story about addiction, technology, and how we treat other people when a cause is on the line. Go check it out!